The Personal Journal of Dr John H Watson
by nevershoutjordyn
Summary: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.
1. When Sherlock Mildly Resembleda Flamingo

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: 762 Rating: M to be safe. Warnings for language and adult themes. **  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **_hey guys! Okay, so I've been wanting to write a BBC Sherlock fic for ages, and I had so many different ideas on what to write, that I simply couldn't settle for just one. Recently, I discovered a fic called, That One Night (go check it out, it's simply brilliant) where the author basically takes prompts and goes with it. That gave me the idea to just write mini ficlets based on you, the readers, prompts and ideas. And I mean, with these two and their never ending shenanigans, the possibilities are endless! Just assume everything here is post-reichenbach and current, okay? So, in the words of Mario, Here We Go! _

_070913_

_ When Sherlock Mildly Resembled a Flamingo _

"Sherlock? Sherlock dear?" Ms. Hudson shouted from the kitchen.

"Oh Sherlock, what have you done to your kitchen table!" she continued, staring sadly at the now ruined table in question.

"Can't explain now Ms. Hudson, for the game is on!" was all the explanation Ms. Hudson got out of Sherlock before he grabbed his coat and scarf and raced out the door.

"John dear, really?" she continued.

John looked at the broken table, then back to Ms. Hudson and began to blush.

"Long story Ms. Hudson," was all he muttered before exiting the flat, running after Sherlock.

Upon arriving at the scene of the crime, Sherlock popped his collar and walked over to Lestrade.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's never ending attempt to look mysterious before realizing how awkwardly Sherlock was walking.

He was limping.

"What do we know?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, fishing in his coat pockets for his magnifying glass.

"Hello to you to Sherlock," Lestrade griped, noting the funny way Sherlock was walking. He dismissed the thought, however, as John walked up to the pair.

"Afternoon Lestrade," he greeted.

"You too, Dr. Watson."

"Uggh," Sherlock groaned, "You lot really are useless, exchanging pleasantries when there is a case to be solved!"

With that Sherlock turned on his heels and awkwardly limped away, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape.

John noticed Lestrade staring questioningly at Sherlock, and knew he had to interrupt before Lestrade said anything.

"Ahem," John muttered.

"Ah, yes, um a man was murdered here around midnight last night," Lestrade began, "35 years old, 6'2, goes by the name Michael Taytum."

Lestrade continued to describe the case, but John had already tuned out, releasing an internal sigh of relief. Relieved that Lestrade hadn't pushed the state of Sherlock's saunter any further.

Once Lestrade believed he brought John up to date, the two ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, and walked over to what was quite the spectacle.

They walked over to the scene to find all of the Yarders standing around in a semicircle, failing to fully stifle their giggles.

At first, John was slightly annoyed because, damn it people, you can't giggle at a crime scene. That was when he realized _what _exactly they were giggling at.

Regretfully, his eyes cast downward to find Sherlock examining every inch of the corpse with his magnifying glass. Only, he couldn't quite assume the crouching position needed, but instead stooped down on his right leg, and kept his left extended and elevated in the air, not wanting to bear weight on it.

Thinking back on it, he somewhat resembled a crippled flamingo.

Sherlock scurried left and right around the body examining, then flamingo limping, examining, then limping.

It really was a sad sight.

John just shut his eyes very tight, and hoped no one would notice his partners' odd behavior.

Just then, John heard a clearing of a throat and winced.

"Ahem," Anderson chuckled.

"Of course it would be you" John seethed under his breath.

"Hey freak, are you alright?" he questioned.

Not looking up from his magnifying glass, Sherlock casually replied, "John broke the kitchen table while fucking me on it, and I sustained an injury to my leg."

A beat passed.

Every person at the scene slowly turned to look at John, mouths agape and faces in shock.

Johns face flushed crimson and he began to resemble that of a flustered tomato.

"Ah, um, excuse me" John managed to mumble, before spinning on his heel and almost running away from the scene.

A beat passed.

Every person at the scene now turned back slowly in Sherlock's direction to find him now standing up, dusting off his clothing.

"You're looking for a private caterer, mid-forties," Sherlock announced, tucking his magnifying glass deep into his coat pocket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, John and I need to take a trip to Ikea."

With that, Sherlock popped his collar, tightened his scarf, and limped back under the yellow crime scene tape and out of sight.

"Freak," Sally finally broke the silence among the Yarders.

"Disgusting," added Anderson

"But I-"began the new member of the squad, "I didn't even know they were a-an item" his voice cracking mid-sentence.

Lestrade let out a sigh, and wrapped a reassuring arm around the new guys' shoulders.

"I was going t-to ask him ou-"he fumbled over his words before Lestrade interrupted him.

"Jake, was it?" Lestrade asked.

"Mhm," he croaked, looking up to meet Lestrade's gaze.

"You didn't stand a chance"

Lestrade patted Jake on the back, and set off to start the paperwork.


	2. Of Shock and a Blanket

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **873 **Rating**: T  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **Read and Review! And please, leave me prompt ideas! Thanks a million! 

_071013 _

_ Of Shock and a Blanket_

Once again, Sherlock came to, only to find himself engulfed in that fuzzy, orange blanket.

Sherlock hates this blanket, fervently, knowing that it in itself is a sign of weakness and distress. Sherlock Holmes is neither of the above. Yet this time, much to his disbelief, he finds himself pulling it tighter around his wounded body.

"Look who has come to" a soft voice began. "It's about time"

Sherlock slowly began to sit up, still registering what has happened.

"No, no, no, you stay down; I'm going to go fetch the nurse."

Sherlock, complied, and lied back down without a fight.

John always thought Sherlock looked his cutest when disgruntled, as he is now. He began to giggle, when he realized that Sherlock was, for the first time, really embracing the loud, orange blanket.

He leaned down and gently brushed the hair out of Sherlock's eyes. He planted a tender kiss to his forehead, and then got up to find the nurse.

The cab ride home was a silent one.

Sherlock still clutched the blanket with an iron grip. He refused to let it leave his shoulders. John simply held his love, whom he realized was experiencing true shock for the first time. They simply stared out of the windows, watching London go by at 45 miles an hour.

Upon arrival at 221B, John managed to get Sherlock upstairs to the bed that they finally shared. He sat Sherlock down at the foot of the bed, and began to take off his clothes.

First his shoes, then his socks. Then his belt, his trousers, and wristwatch. He reached to remove the blanket only to be met with a white knuckled grip around his wrist.

"No," Sherlock whispered, his eyes frightened like that of a young boy who can't find his way home.

John let out a sigh.

"It's okay love, I'm right here" John assured, again reaching for the blanket. "I'll put it right back on, but I have to get you out of these clothes."

Sherlock nodded in understanding, but visibly tensed once the blanket was removed. John then set to work, wiggling Sherlock's arms out of his coat. Coat now gone, he began to unbutton his shirt. He then, replaced the blanket across Sherlock's shoulders and sat back on his haunches.

He took Sherlock's hand and gripped it tightly, trying to reassure his love that everything was okay now. John shut his eyes tightly, kissed the back of Sherlock's hand, and stood up, pulling Sherlock up with him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Hand in hand, the two walked to the bathroom. John sat Sherlock down on the seat of the toilet as he turned on the shower.

"Sherlock?" John asked, still adjusting the water to the right temperature.

No response

"Sherlock love?"

No response

"Sherlock, can you take your pants off, I need you to shower."

And still, Sherlock would not reply.

He looked broken, staring blankly at a pair of forgotten trousers sitting atop the hamper.

John didn't know what to do. He never thought the day would come where Sherlock Holmes went into shock. He didn't know what to do.

So he did what he knew how. He took care of Sherlock.

John stood him up, and pulled him into a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into his partners' bare chest. He rubbed circles in Sherlock's back and planted a soft kiss to his sternum.

He then pulled Sherlock's pants down, and coaxed them from around his ankles.

He led them both into the shower, himself still fully dressed, and Sherlock still wrapped in his blanket.

He continued to bathe Sherlock painstakingly gently, constantly whispering sweet nothings of reassurance in his ear.

John bathed every inch of Sherlock, refusing to miss anything. Only removing the blanket once to wash Sherlock's back and shoulders. It was his way of wanting to wash the hurt off of Sherlock. He wanted his love cleansed of everything that happened earlier that day.

Once he was satisfied Sherlock was clean he turned the water off, and grabbed a towel from the rack.

Tentatively, he reached for the blanket. Much to his surprise, Sherlock allowed him to peel away the soaking wet fabric.

This made John very happy, as he hoped that this meant that his Sherlock was slowly coming back to him.

Tossing the blanket aside, he dried Sherlock off, the fibrous bristles of the towel absorbing all the water from his body.

John then stripped himself of his soaking clothing, and dried off too.

He fished a pair of clean pajamas out of the drawer, and began to dress Sherlock, then himself.

John pulled back the duvet on their bed, and motioned for Sherlock to lie down. He did, and John tucked him in. He hurried around to his side of the bed and quickly got under the covers.

He wrapped a protective arm around Sherlock and pulled him close.

John kissed the back of Sherlock's neck.

"Goodnight love," he whispered.

Recognizing that he wasn't going to get a response tonight, John let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

"John?" he heard, some minutes later.

"Mmm, yes love?" he replied groggily.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock."


	3. Safety Violations

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **1,267 **Rating**: T  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **I will probably make a bit of a part two to this one. I like where it's going. As always, thank you for reading! I hope you guys enjoy! Read, review, and prompt me please! c:

_071013_

_ Safety Violations. _

_"Do you want me to die John?" Sherlock questioned._

_It was a relatively warm night in Santa Monica. 'A beautiful day to spend at the beach' is how John described it. Having a case that brought them all the way to America was quite the rarity, and to the California coastline? John was simply ecstatic. _

_Sherlock, however, didn't see the change in venues as all that great. He was on a case. That is all. Strictly work. He didn't see the point in such childish things as going to the pier. Even if the case was solved, and they still had the hotel room for another night. _

_John shifted his weight between feet and let out an irritated sigh. _

_"You are not going to die, Sherlock" he groaned. _

_Sherlock stared back at his partner incredulously. John ran sweaty fingers through his hair._

_"I suppose you're going to attempt to prove me wrong now?" John asked._

_" 2007, Universal Orlando, a 68-year-old woman fractured both legs and arms while exiting the ride vehicle of Peter Pans flight. 2006, Islands of Adventure, a 14-year-old girl broke her arm on the Camp Jurassic climbing nets. 2008, Walt Dis-"_

_"Whoa, whoa, wait, what?" John exclaimed. "How do you even know-" _

_"It doesn't matter how I know, John." Sherlock interrupted. "What matters is that all these people were severely injured on well-established, supposedly 'safe' theme park rides. And you want me to waltz on over and buckle myself into this death trap of a safety violation?!"_

_John looked at Sherlock intently, both men refusing to blink. _

_"Is this why you didn't come to bed last night?" John asked, a smile creeping onto his round features. _

_Sherlock stood remarkably still. _

_"Oh my god, Sherlock. You stayed up all night researching this so that you could try and find an excuse not to ride the rollercoaster!" John chuckled in delight. _

_"No I spent last night looking up the last time this pier had a safety inspection, which by the way, I doubt was thorough." he seethed._

_John's chuckle turned into a full out guffaw of laughter, now drawing the attention of some amused passerbys. _

_"What?" Sherlock demanded, dark curls bouncing with anger._

_"You're scared" John teased, pushing an accusing finger into Sherlock's chest. _

_"Ridiculous," he scoffed. _

_"You Mr. I-can-fight-off-a-Chinese-assassin-with-a-bottle-o f-spray-paint are afraid of rollercoasters." John giggled. _

_Sherlock took a step closer to John, and looked down at him furiously. He was met only with a glee ridden face staring back up. _

_A noise, somewhere mixed between a growl and nervous croak, left Sherlock's throat before he spun on his heel in the direction of the rollercoaster. _

_"Here we go," mumbled John before he ran to catch up with Sherlock. _

_The two waited in line in an uncomfortable silence. _

_Right before the got to the front of the line, Sherlock spoke up. _

_"You know it's not too late John." _

_"What?" he replied, "Not too late for you to chicken out?"_

_"No," Sherlock grumbled, "It's not too late for us to both leave this pier with our lives."_

_John could see the fear in Sherlock's eyes. Just sparks of it, flickering beneath the front of indifference he puts up._

_John's face softened. _

_"You know, love, you don't have to do this. Prove anything" he whispered. _

_Sherlock looked relived. His shoulders sagged, just for a second before he managed to pull himself back together. _

_"Ahem, no, nonsense," he began, "I'm simply trying to avoid the inevitable lawsuit we will have by the end of this night." _

_John smiled. _

_"I'll take my chances." _

_By that time, the two were at the front of the line. _

_"How many in your party?" the ride attendant asked. _

_"Uh, two" John stated, holding up two fingers. _

_"Row one please" she smiled, gesturing at the large painted one on the floor next to the coaster tracks. _

_They stepped into place and waited for the arrival of the coaster that would, as one of them described it, escort them to their doom at 75 mph. Sherlock was always one for the dramatics. _

_Soon enough, the coaster came to a full and complete stop and the previous passengers made sure they had all their belongings before carefully exiting the vehicle. _

_It was finally their turn. _

_The rusty, red gates opened up before them with a creak, allowing them to step into the vehicle. _

_John first, then Sherlock, the two stepped into the car and sat down. As instructed, the pair raised their arms as the ride attendant came along and lowered the lap bar._

_Suddenly, Sherlock felt very, very trapped. _

_He began to writhe and wriggle around in his seat. Beads of sweat began to pool around his brow. When the ride abruptly jerked into motion he gasped and froze in his seat. _

_John immediately felt terrible for forcing Sherlock onto this ride. He found Sherlock's hand under the lap restraint and held on tight. _

_John felt him physically relax, and he felt just a tiny bit better. _

_As the coaster began to roll towards that intimidating incline, they could hear the muffled traces of the automated safety announcement. _

_'Please keep all hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle at all times.' _

_Sherlock was sure there was more to it, but he couldn't hear much else over the screaming in his mind palace._

_Slowly, the coaster began to rise up the incline. As the car got higher, the tighter the grip on John's hand got. As the car reached the apex of the incline John felt as though he no longer had bones in his right hand. The cart then stopped, as if for dramatic effect, dangling over the edge of the drop. He let out a deep breath and then. . ._

_The sounds of Sherlock's screams of terror were drowned out, for the most part, by the screams of joy from John and the rest of the enthusiastic coaster goers. _

_The moment the ride came into sight of the exit platform Sherlock began to frantically push up on the lap restraint. _

_ John took the opportunity to nurse his surely broken hand. _

_"Calm down Sherlock, you have to wait until the ride has come to a complete stop." _

_"Damn, complete stops!" he shouted, flinging himself back in the seat. _

_The moment the ride pulled up to the exit point, and the lap bars were raised, Sherlock leapt over John and onto the platform. _

_He was out the door before John could get out of his seat. _

_John caught up with Sherlock a few minutes later. He found him sitting with his legs tucked up under him on a bench. _

_He felt really bad that he made Sherlock go through that, no matter how hilarious it was. _

_He marched up to him and planted a sloppy kiss right on his lips. For once, he really didn't care who saw. _

_"Come on," John said, breaking away from the kiss. "Let's go win you a giant teddy bear." _

_Sherlock looked genuinely relived. John was happy this didn't do a number on him. He couldn't deal with another shock episode, especially when they had a long flight tomorrow morning. _

_ "You know, it's physically impossible for you to win those games" Sherlock stated matter of factly, standing up from the bench. "Physics, John" _

_John just rolled his eyes and pulled Sherlock along; happy he was back to normal._

_"Oh shut up, you wanker. You ruin everything." John grinned. _

_Sherlock just smiled and kept walking, relieved that he in fact didn't die today. Secretly hoping that John could defy the laws of physics and win him a big teddy bear. _


	4. Breaking the Laws of Physics

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **921 **Rating**: T+ just for language  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **Part two of Safety Violations**. **ENJOY!

071013

Breaking the Laws of Physics

"John, you're just wasting your money" Sherlock stated with a sigh, absentmindedly examining his cuticles.

"Shut up, Sherlock" John groaned, turning his attention towards the overly enthusiastic lady manning the ring toss booth.

"How much for a ring ma'am?" John asked politely.

"$2.00 per ring" she chirped, "But I'll give you two for the same price!"

"Thank you, that's mighty kind of you ma'am" he replied.

"Oh please!" she exclaimed, reaching over to retrieve the small, yellow rings. Strategically placing her chest in John's immediate line of vision.

Sherlock's body stiffened as he took a protective step closer to John.

"How could I not make a deal with such a handsome fellow?" she drawled.

John felt a very tight grip around his waist, fingernails digging into his jumper.

"Ahem, yes well," John started nervously.

"Could you please stop your ridiculous attempts to hit on my boyfriend? It's simply pathetic." Sherlock stated with a false mask of sympathy plastered on his face.

Sherlock simply relished in the look on the lady's face when the realization hit. Hearing her stumble over her next few words was the highlight of his night.

He loved other people knowing that John Watson was his.

His and not theirs.

_That _was what he really got off on.

"I- um, yes, well here are your rings, sir" she stammered, handing John the rings while avoiding eye contact with the both of them.

Sherlock was blissful.

John hoped Sherlock wouldn't make much more of a scene. This poor girl didn't know what she had coming.

"You know John that it is impossible for you to win" Sherlock beamed, turning his attention back to John. "They rig these bottles so that they are too big for the ring to fit over."

"You're wrong _sir"_ she seethed through gritted teeth.

'Oh boy' thought John.

"Oh am I?" Sherlock retorted.

"You certainly are" she began, turning to retrieve a bottle from the platform.

She picked up a spare ring and dropped it onto the neck of the bottle in spite. It fit perfectly.

"Happy?" she spat sarcastically.

"Ecstatic" he replied.

Satisfied that she had proved her point, she replaced the bottle on the platform and turned her attention back to John.

"Now, if you would like to toss the rings, we could move on-"

"Do you know what would make me even happier?" Sherlock interrupted, the size of the grin on his face slightly revealing his multiple chins.

"What?" the lady replied, trying her hardest not to slap a bitch silly. She really couldn't lose another job.

"Could you show me another bottle?" he inquired calmly.

She faltered.

Gotcha.

"I, uh, well sir-"

"No need to fret," Sherlock said, sliding gracefully over the barricade that separated the booth from the boardwalk. "I can help with that."

"Ahh!" the lady exclaimed. "Sir, you can't do that!"

John buried his head in his hands and prayed that no one was watching.

"Why can't I?" Sherlock questioned, his brow shooting up towards his forehead. "Afraid I'll do this?"

Sherlock took the tiny yellow rings and proceeded to try and force it over the neck of a bottle that was clearly too large.

John couldn't help but begin to smile. His boyfriend was a lunatic.

"Look sir!" she screamed in a whisper, yanking Sherlock down to eye level by his scarf.

"If you put that bottle back, and keep your voice down, I will _give_ you a damn prize!"

"Deal," he stated, clearly all too pleased with himself.

Sherlock nimbly hoped back over to the pedestrian side of the booth and planted a quick peck to John's cheek.

"You're welcome" he grinned.

John looked at Sherlock intently. He looked like a kid in a candy store, eyes brighter than the stars in the sky. John tried his hardest to look annoyed.

"Just shut up and pick a prize," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock smiled and turned his attention to the giant rack of prizes that hung over the booth.

"That one!" he shouted, pointing to a giant, tan teddy bear with a red bowtie.

"He reminds me of the Doctor John!" he squealed.

"Of course he does, Sherlock." John sighed, watching the lady scornfully retrieve the prize.

She shoved it into Sherlock's waiting arms with a lot more force than necessary. He didn't care though. He just skipped away happily with his new best friend.

John shot the lady a sympathetic look which she dismissed with a wave of her hand.

"Seems like a keeper, huh?" she exhaled.

"Yeah, suppose so" John smirked. "Have a goodnight."

"You too" she replied.

He ran and caught up to Sherlock who was in the process of straightening the bear's bowtie.

"You didn't have to do that Sherlock," John began.

"I know," he quipped. "But wasn't that a lot more fun than ring toss?"

John roughly elbowed Sherlock in the ribs.

"You are such a wanker, you know that!" he teased.

Sherlock just laughed, deep and hearty, idly stroking his prize.

"So what are you going to name him?" John asked, guiding the two of them towards the street to catch a cab.

"Sexy," Sherlock said, without missing a beat.

"Sexy? Like, the Tardis?" he asked, brow raised in question.

"No," he smiled. "Like you."

John blushed, and elbowed him in the side again.

"Oh, shut up!" he cried in delight, as the two of them made it to the main road and began to try and hail a cab large enough for them and their new friend.


	5. Branded

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: 1,189** **Rating**: T+ just for language  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **I really like this chapter! Found the prompt online and just went with it! Leave your comments and tell me what you think! Leave me more prompts please! ENJOY

071113

Branded

"How do you feel about tattoos?" Sherlock questioned, not looking up from his microscope.

Sherlock had not moved from that position since John had left for the grocery store about 2 hours ago. He wasn't even sure if Sherlock had noticed he was gone.

"Tattoos?" John asked, placing the bags from the store on the experiment ridden kitchen table.

"Yes, how do you feel about them?"

"Um," John wondered. "I suppose I have no problem with them. Obviously I don't have any because of the military-"

"Yes, John I know that, I have seen every inch of you." Sherlock quipped, mildly irritated, as he changed his slide.

John began to blush.

"Ahem, yes well," John stammered, willing the red to drain his face before Sherlock made a rogue glance in his direction.

"As I was saying," he continued. "I don't have one, but I have nothing against them. Why the sudden interest-"

"Brilliant!" Sherlock beamed, standing up and away from the microscope.

"What? Did you find something in the slides to clear the suspect's name?" John asked, still curious about Sherlock's sudden interest in bodily ink.

John was answered with the slam of the flat door.

He sighed heavily, and resigned himself to putting away the groceries by himself. Again.

"John?" Sherlock called tentatively, stepping into the flat an hour later. "John, are you here?"

"Yes, love. In here!" John shouted from the living room.

As per usual, he was found sitting in his chair sipping tea, and furiously pecking away at his laptop.

"Hello John," Sherlock greeted, bounding into the room.

"Where did you go-"

"I would like you to meet Vinny" Sherlock smiled, gesturing to the very large, very tattooed man still lingering in the doorway.

John shot Sherlock a questioning look.

"Hello, Vinny. John Watson." He greeted, standing up and putting a hand out.

"Heeeyy Johnny booy!" Vinny exclaimed, pulling John in for a very tight, very awkward bro hug.

"Ah, yes okay." John stuttered, pulling out of the hug and straightening his jumper.

He shot Sherlock a very pointed look.

Sherlock looked simply gleeful.

"Vinny is a tattoo artist" Sherlock stated, grabbing a large bag that John hadn't realized was left in the doorway.

"Yes, I gathered." John said, furiously hunting for a part of Vinny's visible skin that wasn't covered in ink.

"Sherlock here got me off a murder charge a few years back!" Vinny all as well screamed, patting Sherlock on the back. '

"The real murderer had a shaky hand," Sherlock beamed triumphantly. "An idiot knows that a tattoo artist has a steady hand."

"Yes okay, that's," he looked from Vinny back to Sherlock who was now digging something out of the bag, "wonderful."

"But why is he here?" John asked, beginning to get worried.

Then the realization hit.

"Oh, no. No, no, no!" John said furiously, scowling at Sherlock who was now holding a black tattoo gun in his hand.

"Why not John?" he asked, handing the gun to Vinny, motioning for him to start setting up.

"Because Sherlock, aren't I too old for a tattoo? I mean seriously!" John scoffed.

Sherlock smirked.

"You're too old for me, but you don't see me complaining" Sherlock teased.

"Yes, Sherlock. Way to convince me!" He fake smiled.

"But John, you don't even know why!" he whined.

"Fine Sherlock, convince me." John huffed with a roll of his eyes.

Sherlock then proceeded to run his mouth at deduction speed.

"Dating back to the ancient Egyptians, people have always branded their cattle to know whose cattle were whose. Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, you name it, everyone always branded what was theirs. And-"

"Oh, great so I'm a cow then?" John groaned, nervously eyeing the large needles that Vinny was cleaning off in the background.

He gulped.

"You're missing the point John!" Sherlock yelled, hands running through his curly locks. "Everyone always misses the point!"

"Okay, then what is the point Sherlock?" John muttered, clearly irritated.

"People always branded their animals because they loved them, and didn't want to lose them." He whispered meaningfully.

John was caught off guard.

That almost made sense.

"I never want to lose you John" he whispered.

He could see the look in Sherlock's eyes. He really wanted to do this.

"UGH!" John exclaimed, "Fine, fine!"

Sherlock was giddy.

"But where-"

"Hey man, do you have a towel or something?" Vinny interrupted. "You might wanna bite down on one."

John gulped.

"In the kitchen," Sherlock replied.

He turned his attention back to John.

"Where do you I want it to be?" John asked.

Sherlock smirked and placed his fingertips underneath the hem of John's jumper.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked uneasily.

In one quick motion, Sherlock ripped the jumper off of John and left him bare chested.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John screamed in a whisper.

"I want it right here." He said, pushing a finger right onto John's heart.

John couldn't help but smile. His boyfriend was so cute.

"What the hell?!" they heard Vinny scream from the kitchen.

John and Sherlock met each other's gaze and began to laugh, knowing that Vinny had probably come across the jar of ears in the towel cupboard.

Coming back into the room, towel in hand, Vinny was pale faced.

"You guys need to put a sign up or something, damn!" he griped.

The boys just laughed as John sat down in front of Vinny.

They watched in silence as Vinny poured the jet black ink into the tattoo gun and turned it on.

The buzzing of the gun filled the flat, and just as the needle was to hit skin, Vinny stopped and asked:

"What exactly am I tatting here?"

John looked up at Sherlock too.

"Yeah, I can't believe I didn't even ask you. What am I getting?" he asked.

Sherlock just smiled the wickedest of smiles and John's face went white.

Oh dear.

Weeks past after the tattoo incident, and life went on as planned.

They got a new case and were on the scene in a matter of minutes. As usual, Sherlock was perched over the body that was found, examining to his heart's content. And John was standing above him, taking notes on everything Sherlock was saying.

But then, Sherlock made a very strange request.

"John, take off your shirt." He said, not bothering to take his eyes off the corpse.

"What?" John replied, baffled by the request.

"Don't question me, this is a matter of life and death." He responded calmly.

John didn't mind. He clearly wasn't out of shape or anything. There was really nothing to be ashamed of.

Still, he shot Lestrade a look as if asking permission to strip at his crime scene.

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.

With a sigh, John removed his shirt and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed it with a thank you.

John was confused by the muffled laughter from all the Yarders. He didn't know what was so strange.

He was still in okay shape, especially for a man his age.

That was until he looked down and remembered the small, black inked 'SH' branded over his heart.


	6. Costumes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **988 **Rating**: T  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes:** Hey guys! My schedule's getting pretty busy, so I'm sorry for not updating yesterday. This one's pretty crap, but I wanted to leave you guys with something before things get really busy for me. Thanks for reading, I love you guys! srsly. ilysm. Leave me more ideas! They really help, okay? ENJOY

071213

Costumes

"John! John! JAWN! Wake up for Christ's sake! Do you know what day it is?" Sherlock screamed, jumping up and down on the bed.

"It's the day I finally murder Sherlock Holmes," John hissed, turning on his side and pulling the sheets up over his head.

"No John you idiot!" Sherlock yelled, clearly unphased my Johns unhappy mood. "It's Halloween!"

John knew how much Sherlock loved Halloween. It is simply his favorite holiday. It was where he held some of his few precious childhood memories of him and Mycroft getting along. The two of them, strolling down the treats collecting candy from strangers. They were always the same thing.

Mycroft a secret agent and Sherlock a pirate.

At least one of them was living their dream.

"No, Sherlock, it's not" John muttered, trying his hardest not to explode. "What it is, is 5 in the fucking morning!"

"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed giddily. "5 a.m. on Halloween!"

John bolted upright. He moved so quickly, he knocked Sherlock off balance and off the bed.

"Look," John spat, staring at Sherlock who was massaging his now injured bum. "If you let me sleep for three more hours, just three," he demonstrated with his fingers. "I will let you dress me as whatever or whoever you want!"

Sherlock grinned deviously.

"Anyone?"

John suddenly regretted this decision. But he really _really_ loved his sleep.

"Yes, Sherlock, now shut up and go to sleep." John said, as he turned his back to Sherlock and attempted to go back to sleep.

Sherlock then climbed into bed, but sleep was the last thing on Sherlock's mind.

His head was now racing with wonderful ideas of how he could dress up his John.

A doctor, he thought. No, that's too easy.

A superhero?

Yes, that could work. John certainly is my hero, he thought reverently, a small grin creeping up onto his face.

Superman? No, the hair is wrong.

Batman? No, I don't want a mask covering up his beautiful face, he decided.

Captain America? Oh yes, he thought, mental images already forming in his head.

Sherlock began to get a bit heated, imagining his John in a tight, spandex suit, his muscles showing through the material- WAIT.

You could almost hear the gears in Sherlock's head grind to a halt when he stopped and realized:

They were going to a Halloween party this year.

A Party with their friends. Their friends and_ Sarah. _

Sherlock still didn't care much for her, even though John assured him that nothing went on between them anymore.

Still, Sherlock couldn't let Sarah see John in such an outfit.

Sherlock sighed in disappointment. He really wanted to show off his boyfriend.

If only there was a way he could, Sherlock thought, if only he could show off his gorgeous boyfriend and still let people know that said gorgeous boyfriend belonged to him.

And that was when he got a brilliant idea.

He hadn't realized how long he'd been pondering over this until he was startled by a kiss to the cheek.

"Good morning love," John whispered, clearly in a much better mood. "Thank you for letting me slee-"

"Never mind that!" Sherlock exclaimed, waving a dismissive hand in John's face. "What time do most shops open?!"

"Um, it depends on the store I suppose." John replied, confused by the question. "But I'd say 8."

"Brilliant!" Sherlock shouted, hoping off the bed and grabbing his wallet off the night stand.

"Wha- what? Where the hell are you going?" John asked, baffled.

"Out!" he shouted, heading for the door.

"Sherlock, you're only wearing pants!" John huffed, running a stressed hand through his hair.

"John, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed. "I'll put on my coat."

With that, Sherlock grabbed his coat and slammed the flat door.

John, still sitting on the edge of the bed let out an exasperated sigh and flopped back into bed.

He might as well go back to sleep, he thought. He knew it was going to be a long day.

Three hours later, Sherlock stormed into the flat.

He was shivering and immediately dashed to the fireplace. He grabbed leftover logs and threw them in and was just about to light a match when John intervened.

"Sherlock, no." John said sternly from the doorway.

"But John, I'm freezi-"

"No, we've already been through this. You are not allowed within a 3 foot radius of the fire pit, no exceptions. Do you not remember what happened last time you lit a fi-"

"Yes! I remember John" Sherlock interrupted loudly. "But please just light it then, I'm freezing!"

John rolled his eyes, but took the matches from Sherlock's numb hands and began to light the tinder.

"That's what you get for going out in nothing but pants Sherlock. It's a wonder you weren't arrested."

A smile crept upon Sherlock's slightly blue features.

"Even if I had been arrested, it would have been worth it"

"Mmm?" John asked, still focused on trying to ignite the fire.

"I got our costumes." Sherlock sang.

John turned to face Sherlock after finally lighting the fire and shut his eyes tight. He knew he would regret asking, but he did.

"What exactly are we going to be this year?" he inquired, fear in his voice.

Sherlock grinned and threw him a long black garment bag that he hadn't even noticed until now.

John eyed him suspiciously before slowly pulling down the zipper.

John opened the bag to find a long, grey trench coat, a blue button up shirt, black trousers and red suspenders.

He was confused.

He looked up at Sherlock for some explanation and found a gun being shoved in his face.

"You're going to be Captain Jack Harkness," Sherlock exclaimed, he really was all too excited for this. "And I," he continued, unzipping a second garment bag to reveal a stunning, black pinstripe suit. "I'm going to be Ianto."

A/N If you don't know who Ianto and Jack are, just Google Torchwood. You won't be dissapointed c:


	7. Ultimatum

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: 1, 205 ** **Rating**: T+ just for language  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: Hey guys! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Please tell me what you think, and give me some ideas! **

071713

Ultimatum

"Sherlock, if you love me then you will do this for me!" John exclaimed out of despair.

Sherlock hated ultimatums. Especially one with so much on the line. Honestly, how could he back out now?

Sherlock desperately searched John's stagnant, slate blue eyes. Waiting for him to break. Say he was sorry for putting him in this position. He found nothing. John was serious this time.

"Fine." Sherlock sighed, grabbing his coat off the side of the couch. "If that's the way you want this relationship to work, then fine by me."

Sherlock shrugged on his coat and stormed out of the flat.

John exhaled deeply and slumped down into the couch.

He felt bad for putting Sherlock in this position. But my god, he thought, he is such a drama queen. Honestly, all he has to do is go pick up some milk.

Sherlock was at the store in no time. It was only about three blocks down from their flat.

Sherlock gazed upon the old, dilapidated building marked, 'SUPERMARK T'. Apparently, they couldn't afford to fix the E. Sherlock rolled his eyes and wondered what an idiot must run this place to continuously flaunt such a spelling error over the doors of their place of business.

He shook the thought from his head for the time being and focused on the task at hand. It can't be that hard, he thought, picking up a basket. It's just milk.

He walked through the motion sensored double doors and stopped short.

The first thing he noticed was the large monitor hanging over head with the sign, 'SMILE, YOUR ON CAMERA'.

Sherlock did what he was told and smiled wide. He soon found out where the video feed was coming from. He waved frantically at the camera, and then turned just in time for him to see himself wave on the monitor. He was having a blast, and didn't notice that he had been approached by an employee.

"Um, excuse me sir?" the young employee asked.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from himself on the monitor.

"Yes, can I help you?" Sherlock questioned.

"Um, it's just. Well, you're standing right in front of the sensors, and the doors are acting up. So, if you could just tell me what you're looking for, I can help you go find it." the boy muttered sheepishly.

Sherlock suddenly became embarrassed, something he rarely becomes. He grumbled a quick, "no thank you" and ran off before anyone could notice the cheek flushing his cheeks.

Sherlock wandered about the large supermarket aimlessly, searching for the milk.

Several people approached him, asking if he needing help finding something, but every time his pride refused the help.

He would find the milk on his own, damn it.

He walked and walked until he found an aisle with a brisk chill.

Refrigerators, he thought. This had to be it.

He walked into the aisle and was met with a row of nothing but industrial sized refrigerators with see through doors. He spotted the milk not too far away.

"Ha," he muttered to himself triumphantly. "Elementary"

He walked over to the section with the milk and opened the door. He shivered at the sudden change in temperature. He scanned over all the milk cartons.

Oh no, he thought. Which one does John buy?

His eyes scanned frantically over all the labels.

Whole, Skim, 2%, Fat-Free, what the hell?!

"Doesn't milk come out of cows?!" he exclaimed, wondering whether or not he had deleted this seemingly unimportant bit of information. "How the hell are there so many varieties?!"

Sherlock hadn't realized he was speaking aloud until he noticed a mother and her soon staring in fright. She quickly ushered her son away from him and out of the aisle in a hurry.

"Ah, fuck it." Sherlock groaned, grabbing the carton closest to him and slamming the door.

He stormed out of the freezing aisle, and marched up to the first check-out line he saw.

He took his place in line and watching impatiently as the woman in front of him unloaded his endless amounts of groceries onto the belt one by one.

He sighed audibly, and began to check his watch.

"You know son," the woman in front of him stopped loading her groceries and turned to speak to him. "You know if you're in such a hurry, you can just go use the self-check-out line."

Sherlock didn't care for her attitude, and thought about deducing her until she wept. But that would take some time, and he just wanted to get home.

"Fine." He said, turning on his heel.

His black locks bounced in anger as he stomped over to the self-checkout line. He sat his basket down on the metal counter and went to take out his wallet.

'Unexpected item in bagging area' the machine chirped suddenly, startling Sherlock.

"Wha-"

'Please remove the item, and start again' it chirped.

Sherlock assumed it meant his basket, so he removed the basket and clicked the start button.

'Please scan your first item'

Easy enough, he thought. He wondered why John had such a hard time with these things.

Sherlock swiped the carton across the scanner and placed the carton in the bag provided.

'Unexpected item in bagging area. Please remove and start again'

Sherlock's brows furrowed in frustration. But he did as he was told.

He removed the milk and started the process again.

Third time was the charm.

Once all items in the bagging area were expected, Sherlock clicked _finish and pay_.

He swiped his card.

His card was declined.

He tried again.

And then he tried a different card.

On the fourth rejected card, Sherlock screamed slapped the machine.

He received more than a few worried glances, including none other than the over protective mother, who again ushered her child away towards the exit, eyes wide in fear.

He rolled his eyes, grabbed the milk and threw some cash at a nearby employee.

"Keep the change." He quipped, walking out of the store.

"Sir you can't do that!" the young employee yelled, following Sherlock out of the store.

"So call the police." He replied, turning the corner and walking back towards his flat.

The door of the flat whipped opened with a vengeance, leaving a sizable dent on the wall behind it.

"That took a while," John observed, pouring his freshly brewed tea.

Sherlock grabbed John's arm, spun him around, and shoved the milk into his chest.

"I love you" was all he said, before letting go to go and retrieve his stash of nicotine patches.

He made a mental note to himself:

The supermarket, a three patch problem.

Just as he was about to leave the room, John caught his attention.

"Sherlock, dear?"

"What?" he replied through gritted teeth.

"You know I like whole milk, not skim"

Sherlock just glared at John and slowly gave him a very inappropriate gesture with his hands.

John just laughed and stared down at the carton of skim milk in his hands.

The next morning, they pair awoke to the police knocking on their door.

When the officer asked which one of them was Sherlock Holmes, John sighed and turned to Sherlock, who was wrapped in his sheet in the living room.

"You're not going to the store anymore."

A/N

Yeah, I pulled a John Watson at the grocery store yesterday . . . which inspired this fic, el oh el. Hope you enjoyed! Tell me what you think! c:


	8. Animal Planet

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **1,294 **Rating**: T  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **Read and Review! And please, leave me prompt ideas! Thanks a million! 

_072413_

_ Animal Planet_

"Thank you love," John smiled as Sherlock handed him a nice hot cuppa.  
It wasn't usual that Sherlock brought himself to do something so domestic as make tea for his partner.  
But today was different.  
Sherlock was in a very happy mood, even through lack of case.  
The flat was finally equipped with a brand, spanking new satellite dish.  
To most, this would not me such a momentous occasion. A simple hurrah, for the now couple of extra high-definition channels.  
But to Sherlock Holmes, the satellite dish meant uncensored, unlimited, 24/7 access to  
Animal Planet HD.

Sherlock nestled into the small leather couch, cuddling unnecessarily close to John.  
"Well hello there," John said with a grunt, trying hard to push Sherlock over without spilling his tea.  
"Hush John, you're interrupting!" Sherlock spat hastily, not taking his eyes of the pair of orangutans picking bugs off of each other's backs.  
"Yes, well, you're interrupting my personal space," he grunted with a final shove.  
John frowned at the droplets of tea now making their way down his flannel pajamas he'd tried so hard to keep dry.  
He eyed Sherlock dangerously.  
Sherlock just stared back and sighed dejectedly.  
"Is it so wrong that I want to be nestled up close to two of the most important things in my life at once?" he whined.  
John couldn't help but crack a smile.  
He placed the now, quite empty, cup of tea on the coffee table, and threw a lazy arm around Sherlock's shoulders and pulled in tight.  
"That," John emphasized with a kiss to the tip of Sherlock's nose, "is not wrong at all."  
Sherlock smiled and directed his gaze back to the tele, where the orangutans where still grooming each other. He was content.  
John, on the other hand, was not.  
He was not particularly fond of this kind of thing. Watching animals live their lives through a metal box in a flat wasn't John's idea of adventure. But Sherlock loved it, and he sat through it for him.

About ten minutes later, John began to grow restless. The only noise filling their living room was, as the subtitles called it, '[indistinct mating calls]'.  
John sighed and thought about what it would be like if humans used mating calls.  
A devious smirk crept upon his features, as he leaned in closer to Sherlock's ear.  
He slowly licked around the shell of Sherlock's ear, rewarding him a hollow shudder from the receiving end.  
Not yet satisfied, John attempted to mimic the mating call of the orangutan in Sherlock's ear, as sensually as the sound could be uttered.  
Sherlock suddenly burst into a wild fit of laughter.  
John was stunned; he really didn't expect this type of response. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at Sherlock menacingly.  
"What?" he muttered.  
Sherlock was on the floor now, his deep, throaty laugh now echoing through the previously silent flat. He managed to respond in between gasps for air.  
"John," gasp, "that was," gasp, "preposterous!" wheeze. "Was that really your impression of an orangutan mating call?"  
John huffed, and hoped the room was too dark for Sherlock to see the alarming shade of red flushing through his features.  
It wasn't.  
Sherlock giggled.  
"Oh shut up you wanker, and watch your bloody orangutans." John huffed, scooting far away from Sherlock on the small couch.  
Sherlock complied, and continued to watch the apes silently for about another twenty minutes before John became restless.

"So how can you tell them apart?" John asked, desperately needing some kind of communication.  
His question was answered as a large, male orangutan rolled about on his back, letting everything hang loose.  
"Oh," John whispered, tiredly reaching for his now, quite empty, and quite cold cup of tea.  
He frowned into the mug, and stared into the swirling bits of leaves floating at the top. He got up off the couch and went to reheat it.  
When he got back, Sherlock was in an even more attentive state than normal. He was sat up on his haunches on the couch, hands around his knees, eyes glued to the telly.  
"Sherlo-,"  
"Shut up John, this is my favorite segment!" Sherlock hissed.  
John glanced at the screen to notice that the orange and ugly orangutans had now been replaced with green, scaly, reptiles.  
Ah yes, John remembered Sherlock always did love the reptiles. He wondered why, but thought it better to save his question for commercial break. So he sat down, with a reheated cup of tea, and waited patiently for the commercials.

As the reptile house slowly began to fade into a blaring ad for car insurance, Sherlock let out a sigh.  
John jumped at the opportunity.  
"So why do you like the reptiles so much?" he questioned.  
"I suppose Mycroft is to blame," Sherlock responded, not missing a beat.  
"What?" John was puzzled.  
"When we were younger, he used to take me to the zoo all the time. And for whatever reason, we'd always spend the majority of our time in the reptile house. I suppose in hindsight, it was because it was the only air-conditioned part of the zoo," Sherlock said reverently. "But when I was that age, I thought it was because he wanted me to become a lizard."  
"Ha-ha, really?" John chuckled.  
"Yes. Mycroft would always mention how it would be cool to have a reptile for a pet. So, to impress him, I tried to become his pet reptile. So, whenever we went there, I would mimic all the lizards and frogs. I dreamed, that one day, I would even become a powerful dragon." Sherlock grinned widely, clearly revisiting a very rare good memory of his childhood.  
John simply smiled. He was happy to see Sherlock so happy as he is now.  
"But when I didn't grow wings eventually," Sherlock continued, "I gave up on it and decided to be a pirate. I guess some things never change."  
"I suppose they don't Sher-,"  
"Oh shut up John, its back on!" he quipped, whipping his head back in the direction of the TV so fast John thought he'd get whiplash.  
John sighed, glad that he's at least gotten that out of Sherlock before he went back to normal. He laughed at his choice of words.  
Sherlock. Normal. Nope.  
The pair of them cuddled up on the sofa for the good part of that day. Eventually, John yawned wide and said he was going to take a nap.  
He got up and retreated to their bedroom just as the segment changed.  
Sherlock was little more than disappointed that the allotted time for reptilians was over, but was over it quickly when he noticed what was now on screen.

Sherlock eyed the ball of spikes in the sand very closely. There was something about that animal. Whatever it was, he thought.  
He reached for the remote and turned the volume up higher, determined to learn more about this creature.  
'Spending their days burrowing outside and catching food', the monotone narrator uttered, 'the hedgehog is used to spending long days out in the hot sun.'  
The creature, now revealed to be what they called a hedgehog, slowly peaked his face out of its ball of spikes, and Sherlock's jaw dropped.  
He whipped his head to the seat next to him on the couch only to find it empty.  
When did he leave? wondered Sherlock. He shook the thought from his mind, that wasn't import right now.  
Right now, it was important that John could see this uncanny resemblance between him and this burrowing ball of spikey death.  
"John!" Sherlock yelled, running to his bedroom. "John! You look just like a hedgehog!"  
John moaned loudly and pulled the covers over his head.  
"Oh, please, not you too!" he moaned.


	9. Underage

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **1,255 **Rating**: M (for language, and just to be safe.)  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **Hey Guys! I am currently in college! Haha, well not quite. I'm spending two weeks at Brown University for a program that basically simulates the [unnecessary fanfare]

'college experience'

But anyways, I'm having a lot of fun, (coughcoughcollegeboysimtooawkwardtotalkto) so updates may be few and far in between, :c But please, bear with me guys! I love you please don't leave me. But anyways, since I'm here in the wonderful world of college, I've been inspired to write some AU teen!lock. I dunno where this is going brace yourself for some dorm room happy fun times. c; Read and Review, and as always. ENJOY!

072913

Underage

John Watson was the big man on campus.

In high school, John was prom king, captain of the football team, and voted most likely to succeed in life. John always hoped that his popularity would follow him to uni.

It did.

Sherlock Holmes was not.

In high school, Sherlock was valedictorian, self proclaimed president, treasurer, and sole member of the deduction club, and voted most likely to grow up to be a serial killer. Sherlock didn't care about ridiculous things such as popularity in high school or in uni.

He was in for a surprise.

It was the first day of school.

Seniors marauded about, too cool for the notion of getting to class on time.

Freshmeat ran about the campus, noses stuffed into their white paper campus maps.

It was a normal beginning of a year.

"Hey Watson!" he heard someone shout from down the street. "Scottie's Pub, you in?"

John chuckled, "You know, I think we should at least not skip the first day of classes, huh?"

"Yeah, whatever nerd," the voice retorted, turning around and continuing down to the pub.

John smiled, and continued walking towards Thayer Hall, being a senior, he lucked out and got his choice of class first hour; military tactics.

John walked into class to be met with a frowning teacher.

"You're late,"

"I'm sorry profeesor," John smiled sheepishly, running fingers through his hair, causing a lustful sigh from a few girls in the class. "It wont happen again, I promise."

It would.

John slung his backpack off his shoulder and motioned to sit down at the first available desk.

"No." the teacher said, staring at John, butt halfway down into the desk that was just a bit too small.

"No?" John replied quizzically .

"No. You are to go see Mrs. Hudson at Resident Life," the professor said, shuffling papers on his desk.

"Um, okay?" John replied, grabbing his backpack, and walking out of the classroom.

John hadn't been to reslife since his freshman year. He couldn't imagine what they wanted with him.

"With all do respect _Mrs. Hudson_," Sherlock spat through his teeth, "I hardly think I require a baby sitter."

"He is not a baby sitter Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson sighed, exasperated from arguing this point with Sherlock for what has been a good ten minutes.

"Then what would you call him?" Sherlock gritted. Before she could answer Sherlock cut in again. "And what is his purpose? I am perfectly capable of navigating a campus with out adult supervision. And why-"

"_Because you're 16 Mr. Holmes!_" Mrs. Hudson shouted, finally at her wits end.

Sherlock finished high school three years early. He had completed all the credits needed to graduate by his freshman year. He was forced to spend another year in high school because the university he wished to attend had a minimum age policy of 16, and that was for only the brightest of students. Which he was.

Sherlock had no qualms about going to uni early. His age gave him quite a few benefits, such as a single dorm, which freshman almost never get. However, his age also had downsides. Such as the fact that he needed a chaperone to follow him around campus for a week to get him acclimated.

Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest, and huffed down into his seat, deciding not to pursue the argument any further. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence until the door creaked open.

"Ah, hello Mr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson greeted with a smile.

"Uh, hey Mrs. Hudson. What's going on?" John replied.

Sherlock's stomach flipped at the sight of this college boy.

_'What the fuck was that'_ Sherlock wondered in his head, not knowing what to think about this weird feeling he's getting for the first time.

"Well Mr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson continued, completely oblivious to the utter turmoil churning in the depths of Sherlock's stomach. "We would like to ask you a favor."

"Sure, whatever you need," John replied, not missing a beat.

At the sound of John's voice, Sherlock's stomach did it again. He didn't know what was happening. He thought back to all his biology and anatomy classes, trying to conjure some type of medical explanation for the knots forming in the pit of his stomach and the rapid beating of his heart.

"Well, we have a new student on campus, and we would like to know if you wouldn't mind showing him around for a week or two. You are apparently quite popular around here, and the least delinquent of your friends."

John smiled and raised a brow, "Well, I don't see why not," he replied, deciding to take that last comment as a compliment. "Who am I showing around, might I ask?"

"A Mister Sherlock Holmes," she smirked, gesturing towards the occupied seat in the corner of the office.

John didn't see anyone when he walked in, so was all the more surprised when, lo and behold, there was a student sitting in a chair in the corner.

He was beautiful, John thought as his stomach flipped.

'_What the fuck was that_' John thought, not understanding why this boy was making him feel this way.

John swiveled back around towards Mrs. Hudson.

"I thought we were only supposed to show around the underage, genius kids," he asked, not wanting to believe that this boy was so young. He looked, 20, easily.

"Mr. Holmes is 16."

Sherlock didn't even make a snide comment as per usual. He was too stunned to do much of anything right now.

John's eyes opened wide, he too was stunned. How could someone this beautiful be 16?

_'Did I just call him beautiful? What the hell is going on with me?!'_ John ranted internally.

Both boys were far too concerned by the weird things happening to their bodies to notice the long silence that had descended upon them. Or that they were unconsciously staring at each other. Or that Mrs. Hudson was watching them, smirking all knowingly.

"Aren't you two lovebirds going to introduce yourselves?" Mrs. Hudson grinned.

Both boys were shaken from their individual reveries about the other, and completely missed Mrs. Hudson's sly remark.

"Uh, yes. Um, John Watson," he stuck his right hand out to shake, running his left fingers through his hair, again smiling sheepishly.

At the sight of this, a sudden rush of blood coursed through Sherlock's veins and ended up somewhere blood had never rushed to before. He was so alarmed by this foreign sensation; he almost forgot to shake the outstretched hand. He knew what was happening to him. He'd aced health class after all, but he'd never experienced the sensation first-hand before. His head was clouded, heart was racing, and his palm was sweating profusely into John's tight grip.

Sherlock couldn't focus. He mustered all of his energy and cleared his throat.

"Ahem, I'm Sherlock Holmes"

His deep, velvety tone echoed through John's ears. That is not the voice of a 16-year-old boy. The rich, throaty sounds of his voice caused John's heart to beat rapidly, sending a surge of blood through his body and straight to where blood should never go.

They released hands, and wiped their sweaty palms on their jeans.

On the outside, both boys wore fake smiles of nonchalance, but on the inside they were both screaming. Hoping and praying that the other wouldn't glance down to find the bulge growing in their crotch area. Their minds both a cacophony of worry and shame and misplaced excitement.

"shit."

A/N

Okay, this was getting kind of long and winded, so I decided to make this a two-shot. Ahhh! I really like this, writing this is so much fun, you have no idea. I'm thinking about writing a couple more of these in the future? What do you guys think? Do you like them? Leave me comments about whether you want more or not. Thank you my lovelies!


	10. Authors Note

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **negative four.

**Rating**: Z  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **Hey Guys! Okay, so I have been getting a lot of positive feedback from the last chapter, teen!lock, and have made a drastic, life altering decision. jk, I've just decided to make it its own separate story. It's honestly so much fun to write, but trying to fit all my ideas into a two-shot will just make it winded and not very detailed. I am falling in love with this mini ficlet, and really want to elaborate and whatnot. So yeah, please go check it out! If you don't follow me as an author, just look under my profile and it will be there, its called "Chemicals" So yay, this fic will continue as per usual, and yeah! Go check it out! LOVE Y'ALL!


	11. Overdose

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing:**John Watson & Sherlock Holmes

**Word Count:**899

**Rating**: T  
**Synopsis:**Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

******Author's Notes:** Send me prompt ideas guys! Read, review, and as always ENJOY!

~gifted to: Tabby~

Overdose

"It was the butcher," Sherlock stated, without hesitation.

"What?!" exclaimed Lestrade; the chef hadn't even been a possible suspect.

"It's blatantly obvious."

Sherlock noted the mask of confusion descending upon Lestrade's face. He rolled his eyes. He almost pitied Lestrade, not being able to notice that which stares you right in the face. He sighed, and began to explain:

"You see the cuts, and stab wounds on the body," Sherlock began, stooping down to the corpse and pointing to various slashes in the deceased. "This woman has been murdered in the way one would butcher a cow. The man only knew one thing, how to do his job. And quite well, actually. He simply adapted his techniques to fit a person and voila."

Lestrade nodded curtly, amazed at how he missed such an important observation.

"I'll be off then," Sherlock stated, as he briskly walked away from the scene of the crime.

Sherlock decided to not catch a cab home. It wasn't that far of a walk.  
He decided to call John to see what their plans were for this afternoon.  
He fished cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed the all too familiar number. Pressing the phone snug against his ear, he counted the rings.

Sherlock loved knowing everything there was to know about John. From which eye twitched first when he was angry (left), to how many rings it takes him to pick up his cell phone.

One.

'Normal'

Two.

'Normal'

Three.

'Time to pick up'

Four.

'Hmm, it usually doesn't take him this long'

Five.

'Okay John, enough games'

Voicemail.

Sherlock didn't leave a message.  
He hated it when John didn't answer his phone. He liked to know that John was safe, at all times.  
Sherlock quickened his pace towards the flat.

Upon arrival, Sherlock checked for any signs of a forced entry. He had walked into his flat once before to find that someone had hurt someone he cared about. He would not let that happen again.

Sherlock opened the door and checked the walls for any sign of a struggle.

None.

"John?" he called.

No response.

"John love, are you here?" You could hear the panic breaking through his voice.

He bounded up the steps two at a time and threw open the door.

Sherlock whipped his head left and right, searching the flat; dark curls bouncing carelessly about his head.

He released an internal sigh of relief.  
'So its not the Americans again. But where is-'

His thoughts were interrupted with a grunt from the kitchen.

He sprinted towards the noise, praying that John was okay. He scanned the kitchen for the source of the noise, to find that the culprit was a small heap on the floor.

Sherlock raced to his side.

"John! John love, are you alright?! Who did this to you?" Sherlock was speaking so fast it was hard to make out his words.

John tried his hardest to sit up at the sound of Sherlock's, voice became dizzy on the way up and stumbled backwards again.

Sherlock quickly caught his head before it hit the tile.

"Who did this to you?" Sherlock asked again, gingerly fingering John's locks.

"You did, you **," John slurred.

Sherlock was stunned. "What?"

John furrowed his brows and glared deep into Sherlock's eyes as he violently rolled up his left sleeve to reveal three, small, round patches stuck to his skin.

Sherlock began to stifle a laugh.

"Shut up you wanker," John mumbled, feeling nauseous.

Sherlock took a moment to compose himself.

"Ahem, well why would you do this John?" he asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

John took a deep breath. "Well, it was a really rubbish day at the hospital, and I just needed to relax when I got home. So I tried the usual," he took this moment to point at the half a dozen empty jam jars scattered atop the table, "but it just wasn't cutting it today."

Sherlock couldn't help but giggle. He'd always thought John's jam addiction was cute.

He was met with yet another death stare.

"Ahem, I'm sorry. Yes, continue," Sherlock said.

"So yes," John continued, "I didn't know what to do, and the term 'three-patch-problem' came to mind."

Sherlock's eyes filled with understanding at this point, but he allowed John to finish his story.

"So I dug through your stash and found the patches. I put them on, and. . . yeah, now I'm here," John admitted sheepishly.

A wicked grin crept up on Sherlock's angular features.

"And now you're here?" he began, a single eyebrow reaching up towards his hairline, "lying on the cold hard ground?"

Even in the sick and nauseous state John was in, it was impossible for him to not finish the song.

"Oh! OH! Trouble, trouble," he laughed, shouting as loud as he could without making himself vomit.

Sherlock let out his signature baritone laugh.

The two of them both shared the hidden love for the country sensation. And the both of them would die before admitting it to anyone else.

Sherlock grabbed the heap of tan jumper that was John and carried him off to their bedroom. He cleaned him up and tucked him in.

Sherlock, too, crawled into bed.

In bed, Sherlock gingerly peeled the nicotine patches from John's pale forearms.

"Maybe next time," Sherlock smiled, "you should stick to jam."

John smiled.

"Agreed."


	12. Hot Chocolate

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;

Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes

Word Count: 672 Rating: T+ just a tad saucy ;]

Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

Author's Notes: This chapter's pretty rubbish. oops? I just felt the need to update, I dont want to lose you guys! ilysfm. srsly. you all are the greatest! PLEASEPLEAsEPLEASE leave me prompt ideas! I want to write, but i needs the inspiration! soo, yeah.  
Read, Review, and as always ENJOY!

083013

"ARRRRGH!" Sherlock exclaimed, violently shutting the curtains on the window.

"Hmm?" John sounded, tearing his eyes away from the instant hot chocolate dancing in circles inside the microwave.

It wasn't often that they were able to enjoy a hot cup of cocoa, but Sherlock had finally made a successful trip to and from the grocery store, with milk, so it was a time to celebrate.

It only took him five times after his row with the chip and pin machine.

"It's happening again!" he exclaimed, slumping down onto the couch, blue night gown dangling off his bare shoulders

John grabbed to cups out of the cupboard, trying his hardest to ignore the festering goat hoof in the process. He shut the door with his hip and walked back to the microwave.

"What's happening, Sherlock?"

"It. . . iT. . . IT!" he shouted, voices rising several decibels with every repetition.

"What?" John asked, his patience wearing thin, as he grabbed the whipped cream out of the fridge.

An involuntary smile crept upon his lips at old childhood memories of him and canned whipped cream.

"Just look outside," Sherlock huffed, wrapping himself in his nightgown as he pouted facing the couch.

John sighed, exasperated.

'_And people think I'm the woman in this relationship_.'

He walked over to the window and threw open the blinds.

And rolled his eyes.

"It's called rain, Sherlock."

"Exactly!" Sherlock yelled, climbing on top of all the furniture, making his way over to John.

"And it's driving me mad!" he added, as he hopped down off the side of his armchair.

John raised an inquisitive eyebrow, prompting Sherlock to explain himself.

"It's been raining non-stop for a week!" he began, skinny arms flailing about.

"And with it, came a dry spell!"

John began hesitantly, as if disarming a bomb.

"A dry spell in-"

"Crime Jawn! Crime!" Sherlock shouted, black curls bouncing with vengeance.

"Five days, and what? Nothing! It's like even the scum of the earth are afraid to melt in a little rain!" he said as he threw his arms up in defeat and flung himself back over the couch.

Sherlock shifted when he felt a warm body plop down next to his feet.

"Well, if the criminals are taking a few days off, then that means you can too," John smiled, rubbing circles in Sherlock's back.

"Yes, I suppose it was nice at first," he began, sitting up straight to look John in the eyes, "But now I'm bored. And it feels like I'm imprisoned in my own house with nothing to do and no one to talk to but-"

Sherlock stopped short of finishing that sentence as he was met with John's, 'don't you test me Sherlock Holmes' eyes.

John had been making those eyes all too often recently.

Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm sorry, John."

John couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't often someone was blessed enough to hear sincerity leave those gorgeous, thin lips.

"It's okay," he smiled, "Want some hot chocolate?"

"That would be marvelous."

"Okay," John replied, standing up and patting Sherlock's chest as he does all the time.

Only this time, he didn't account for the long forgotten whipped cream can still tight within his grasp.

The tip of the can crashed into Sherlock's chest, spurting the white, puffy topping all over him.

He gasped at the sudden cold.

"Oh my gosh, Sherlock, I am so sorry!" John exclaimed, reaching to wipe it off.

Sherlock caught John's hand half-way to his chest.

"Sherlock, what are you doing, let me help you?"

Sherlock didn't reply, he only grabbed the can from John's hand and proceeded to spurt two, white dollops onto his nipples.

He smirked.

"Now clean it," he said, letting go of John's hands, "but, do me a favor, and don't use your hands."

Sherlock smiled deviously as he watched the red flush John's cheeks in a matter of seconds.

And from then on, that was how most rainy days were spent in 221B.

Getting whipped cream off of god knows where,  
using god knows what.


	13. Blogs

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;  
**Pairing: **John Watson & Sherlock Holmes  
**Word Count: **992 **Rating**: M /cat calls internally/  
**Synopsis: **Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

**Author's Notes: **wut wut, chicken butt. el oh el, idek guys. So, I really don't like this chapter. I really like the concept, but I honestly didn't do it justice. ATTENTION EVERY WRITER EVERYWHERE THAT IS BETTER THAN ME, [which is everyone] PLEASE DO THIS PROMPT JUSTICE, KAY? Anyways, more prompts maybe? Read, Review, and as always ENJOY!

090213

Blogs.

"Don't mind me," John huffed under his breath, ramming his bad shoulder into the door with a wince. "I don't need any help. You know, I can carry 40 pounds worth of groceries by myself."

John stammered his way into the kitchen, hoping Sherlock would get the hint.

He didn't.

With a groan, John dropped the half a dozen grocery bags onto the experiment-ridden table.

He looked expectantly over to Sherlock, hoping to get some kind of reaction.

He was met with a sheet clad Sherlock, pecking away at his laptop.

"Git," John grumbled, shaking his coat off of his shoulders and hanging it up.

He toed off his shoes and angrily marched back into the kitchen.

He angrily grabbed a jar of jam from within the bag, and angrily shoved it into the cupboard, whilst angrily ranting under his breath as he put up the rest of the groceries.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I am a lazy, incapable, genius sociopath who can't dress myself or pick up milk."

"I enjoy how you can insult me, yet still manage to mention my IQ in the meantime," Sherlock piped in all too giddily.

"You are such a wanker!" John screamed, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, and slamming the door.

John stalked over to Sherlock in the living room.

"And what's so important on that computer of yours that you cant seem to tear your eyes off of it? Have you discovered a new form of tobacco ash or something?"

With his free hand, he snatched the laptop from Sherlock's grasp and scanned the contents of the screen.

John's eyes bulged open as a mouthful of water spewed from his lips.

"Sherlock, what in bloody hell are you looking at?!"

"It's a blog, John," he replied flatly.

"What the hell kind of a blog is this!?" John exclaimed, scanning his eyes over the quite erotic pictures on the predominantly blue web page.

"Tumblr, John."

"Tumblr?"

"Mhmm," he replied, gesturing for John to take a seat, for it looked like he was about to pass out.

From whether it was shock or lust, he wasn't sure.

John stared in a clouded state of bewilderment and arousal at the fantastically drawn pictures. For minutes on end, John simply scrolled down, page after page.

And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

They were just so, intriguing.

'_It's hard to believe these are pictures,'_ he thought to himself, still scrolling. '_They are so realistic,_' he squinted in closely at a **particular** part of a picture, '_dear chirst, extremely realistic! Bloody hell, that one moves!' _

And suddenly, he was 12 pages in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide the growing problem in his pants.

'_Keep it together John, they're just drawings . . . Extremely attractive drawings . ._ .' He focused in on a slender, dark-haired figure in quite the provocative position. He almost forgot Sherlock was still there.

Fingers steepled under his chin, staring in amusement.

"Ahem," Sherlock cleared his throat.

Startled, John jumped from his seat, almost knocking the laptop from his lap.

He caught Sherlock's all-knowing eyes, and chucked sheepishly, handing the laptop back to him.

He crossed his legs and wiped his mouth.

Sherlock simply laughed, and continued to scroll through the seemingly endless pages.

"Okay, yes um, who are they?" John asked hesitantly, needing to break the silence.

"That one," Sherlock began with a smile, pointing at a gray haired man in a quite provocative position, "is called Martin Freeman. And the other," he pointed to the slender, dark-haired man pinned against the wall, "Is called Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Ridiculous name if you ask me," he added as an after thought.

John couldn't care less about the name.

All he could see was the perfect, sculpted curvature of his arse.

"Where are they from?" John asked, trying not to sound too distracted by the gorgeous drawings on the screen.

"They are characters from some television program," he answered.

"Oh. And they are-"

"Gay? Heavens no." he scoffed, "They are both straight as an arrow, in character and out."

John was very confused.

"Then why are they-"

"Fucking?"

John swooned at Sherlock's blunt choice of words.

"Ahem, yes that."

"Fangirls, John."

"Fangirls?"

"Yes, they are steadfast in their belief at these two are sexually attracted to each other, and when their want for the attraction does not show up on screen. . . Well, it results in this."

He pointed to the screen, in which there was a rather graphic depiction of Martin and Benedict engaging in intercourse in a morgue.

John gulped, and prayed to god that his erection was not too noticeable.

More minutes passed in silence as Sherlock scrolled through the depths of the 'menedict' tab and John struggled to control his bodily functions.

"So uh," John again broke the silence, "you're um, into this stuff?"

"GOd no, John."

"Okay, but then how did you-"

"Lestrade sent me the link, he said that the characters reminded him of us." He replied, not missing a beat, "Granted they do, but it pains me to think about his reasons for knowing about this site."

The two of them shuddered simultaneously, then laughed.

Sherlock, deep and velvety, and John, strong and joyful.

John stood up and sat next to Sherlock to get a better look at the characters.

"You know, that Benedict guy does kind of look like you," John smiled.

"Ridiculous," Sherlock snapped.

"My arse is so much nicer."

John laughed and studied the picture more closely.

"You know, we may just have to compare it to the original."

With a laugh, Sherlock stood up and sensually let his sheet fall from his shoulders.

Not to John's surprise, Sherlock was nude underneath.

Chuckling, John lined Sherlock up next to the screen and relished the sight.

He quickly bookmarked the page, when Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

He didn't know when this might come in handy again.

a/n

lol, hi.

Um, is 'menedict' a thing?

Because it needs to be a thing.

Haha, thanks for reading guys! I really appreciate it. I mean it! Your reviews honestly make my day. Week. Month. Life? Yes, my life.

ilysm.


	14. Nanny 911

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;

Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes

Word Count: 770 Rating: T+

Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.

Author's Notes: hey guys! Long time no see, huh? I miss y'all and your ever so sweet reviews! It was my birthday like last weekend so i've been kinda busy with that. speaking of, guess who's getting a pet hedgie! Anywho, look at me, writing in chem again. Gosh, I have no idea how I still have an A in that class :s So, yeah this is going to be a two parter so yay! I dunno, I just like where this is going. As you know, this is a collection of one/two-shots so basically, promptspromptspromptspromtpsineedprompts. So yes! Please, gimme more than likely, your prompt will be written so incentive? maybe? idk, anyways. Also! oh, I'm going to be experimenting with those line-y things? Yeah, to like, separate parts of the story/scene/etc. Would you guys mind? Tell me what you think. Read, review, and as always, ENJOY!

* * *

09302013

"Oh come on! It obviously isn't her he's cheating with!" Sherlock screamed at the television set.

He was sprawled out on the couch, feet in John's lap, clad in his usual.

Next to nothing.

It was a few days since they finished up a particularly grueling case and the pair were simply exhausted.

So they just decided to stay in with crap telly and tea.

"You know they can't hear you, Sherlock." John quipped, relishing in the warmth emanating from his mug.

"Well of course I do, it's television, it doesn't work that way." Sherlock scoffed, looking at John with a face usually reserved for Anderson intimidation tactics.

"It was a joke. . .never mind," he sighed, shoving Sherlock's feet off his lap and standing up. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Do we have any chocolate?" he asked, not tearing his eyes away from the tv.

"No, you ate it all, remember?" John sneered.

"You know, John," he began still not looking up from the characters on screen, "there's this magical place called the supermarket and when you-"

"Don't you even start Mr. I'm-banned-from-the-mini-mart-down-the-street!" John shouted.

"That wasn't my fault John!" Sherlock yelled back, springing off the sofa for the first time in a couple of hours. The sudden rush of movement causing his royal blue robe to untie, revealing his very naked self underneath.

John rubbed his palm down his face with a sigh.

"You know, I'm starting to think you getting banned was no accident."

"Puh-lease, John!" Sherlock scoffed, throwing his hands into the air. "I wish I was allowed to go to the store! At least then I'd have some chocolate now, wouldn't I?"

"Oh, bollocks!" John exclaimed, taking a step closer to Sherlock, shoving an accusatory into his naked chest, "You wouldn't if you could!"

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow.

"If I could go to the store, we'd be covered in chocolate," Sherlock purred.

John could have sworn at that moment he'd heard someone crying, but the thought was promptly forgotten as the implication of his partner's words hit.

John gulped and dropped his arm, letting it dangle in between them as Sherlock completely closed the gap between them. John's jeans rubbing against Sherlock's exposed thigh.

Vividly, John remembered that one night with the bottle of leftover chocolate syrup. The way that Sherlock was able to open the bottle using nothing but his teeth. And the two of their bodies, writhing. Dripping with the thick, choco-

And seriously, what is that crying noise?!

John was about to ask Sherlock about it, but he was beat to it.

"John, are you crying?" he asked, his tone now a complete 180.

Sherlock put his fingers under John's chin and raised it towards his face, inspecting John's face for tears.

"Obviously not, Sherlock!" John groaned, shaking his chin from Sherlock's grasp.

"Then what's that-"

"Ahem,"

* * *

Startled, John turned around to find Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway, crying baby in her arms.

"Ahh," Sherlock sighed, instantly recognizing her reason for the impromptu visit.

John, on the other hand, had no idea, and just prayed that she didn't see where their previous encounter was going.

She did.

"Ah, ahem, hello Mrs. Hudson," John began, walking towards her in greeting.

"Oh Sherlock, do put some clothes on!" their not housekeeper exclaimed, shielding her eyes with her free hand.

Sherlock was now in Mrs. Hudsons direct line of vision, and let's just say there was nothing left to the imagination.

"Ugh, clothes!" Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes, "What good are they anyway?"

"A lot of good!" John exclaimed, jumping back in front of Sherlock, trying his robe for him.

He gave Sherlock a glare, but turned his attention to Mrs. Hudson.

"So what brings you here Mrs. Hudson? Would you like some tea-"

"No time, she's got to dash," Sherlock butt in, settling himself back onto the couch.

"How would you know tha- never mind," John groaned, returning his attention to the woman in the doorway,

"I'm afraid he's right," Mrs. Hudson begam sympathetically, "I've got a bit of an emergency."

"Oh, how terrible," John said, taking a step closer to inspect the bundle in her arms. "But who's this?"

"That's actually what I'm here for," she admitted sheepishly.

"Oh? What do you me-"

"Come on, John, think for once! Use that thing you pass off as a brain," Sherlock interrupted from the couch, now aimlessly flipping through stations.

"Oh shut up you wanker!" John shouted behind him.

But nevertheless, in a few seconds he put two and two together as he looked down at the pink, squirming figure in Mrs. Hudson's arms.

"Babysitting"


End file.
